


all this and heaven too

by macaroni_rascal



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 01:24:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10888905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macaroni_rascal/pseuds/macaroni_rascal
Summary: Mike is supposed to be getting inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame and then he sees Ginny in a dress and their night gets sidetracked.For obvious reasons.





	all this and heaven too

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the Florence and the Machine song of the same name because I took inspiration from the lyrics and its just a gorgeous song!
> 
> Prompted by the beautiful and amazing [Kaylin](http://texasbama.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This fic came about because of Kylie Bunbury being an actual goddess and also [the dress](http://ilarge.lisimg.com/image/9884872/1080full-kylie-bunbury.jpg) just presented so many possibilities, sexy, dirty, wonderful possibilities...

He’s being inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame…and he can’t find his favourite cuff links.

Mike has checked the drawer where they usually are, every possible place in his closet, and the bedside table, for whatever reason they may have ended up there. Nothing.

“Ginny! The cuff links? The ones you gave me? Any ideas? I’m running out of places to look,” she’s in the bathroom and he can hear her faint laughter through the door. Of course she’s laughing at him.

“I’m looking at ‘em! You forgot them in here, old man,” her voice is full of mirth and he’s about to head over to open the bathroom door when she beats him to it. 

Mike has decided he’s not at all interested in being honoured; leaving the house is most definitely the worst possible thing he could do right now. Leaving this bedroom even. She looks unbelievable, so unbelievable he blinks a couple times just to make sure she’s actually real. He takes a second to remind himself that she is his wife. She is all his; she agreed to be with him for the rest of their lives in front of everyone who matters to them both.

He’s never going to get over it, it astounds him over every time he sees the ring on her finger.

The grey sheer fabric hangs off her like a dream, the tie accentuating her waist and the dipped neckline brings his eyes to her beautiful breasts like he’s zeroing in on a target. His favourite part though, is that one of her beautiful, long, strong legs is visible through a sinfully high slit in the fabric.

Mike lets his eyes rake slowly over her. He starts at her feet, the heels she’s wearing making her legs pop and his mouth go dry. His gaze travels slowly up her body, along the curve of her thigh to the flare of her waist, her chest and neck, until finally landing on her face and the artfully tousled hair falling around her stunning face.

This has to be a dream. This can’t be his life. There is no way he won a world series, is being inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame, and has a living, breathing goddess as a life partner. There is just no way.

He almost pinches himself but his hands are tingling and his brain is working too slow to force any of his limbs into movement. 

Mike doesn’t actually say words, but a garbled “wow” comes out of his mouth at one point and he’s wholly unprepared when she smiles, wide and adoring, all her affection focused completely on him. She’s even more beautiful and he’s even more lost for words. 

He snaps out of his blatant admiration to see that she’s holding something in her hand, something insignificant and expendable and definitely not in need of his immediate attention.

“Mike?” She walks closer to him, a knowing smirk on her face. Each step she takes, the fabric flows around her body like a curtain next to an open window, graceful and enchanting. He’s getting glimpses of her leg and he’s not really sure what to do with himself. They have somewhere to be, there must be a reason for this dress. He’s forgotten at the moment; much more important things have garnered his attention.

“You like the dress, huh?” Her voice hasn’t lost the playful tone. Ginny is standing right on front of him and it’s the best kind of catch 22 because he doesn’t have a full view of her in the dress, but she is within touching distance. 

His hands slowly drift to her waist, running around her body, down her hips before resting on her thighs, one smooths over the fabric, the other finds bare, warm skin.

“We’re gonna be late if we don’t go soon.”

Late? Late to what? There cannot possible be somewhere more vital than his current location. A hand that smells faintly of jasmine lifts and gently nudges his chin, he didn’t realize his mouth was open. Lord, the things this woman does to him.

He finally finds his voice after a couple rough swallows.

“You…look…,” just because he found his voice does mean any words were found along with it.

She smiles bashfully, her dimples in full view and he really wishes he had knowledge about poetry because he’s absolutely positive than anything he says, any comparison or compliment he can muster won’t come close to how he feels right now. 

“I have no words, that’s how beautiful you look. You’ve rendered me speechless,” the tenderness in his voice surprises him. Maybe it’s the accumulation of the day and that she’s with him, beside him, that brings everything to the surface. She always been a disarming presence in his life, he’s ecstatic to say that hasn’t diminished since getting married.

_Married!_

“Mike Lawson? Speechless? I didn’t think that was possible,” the sly look on her face has only grown more prominent. There is love and warmth shining through along with her playful expression. His already waning self control is evaporating in the same manner his voice has.

She has to stop. He has things to do, people to see, honours to receive.

His hands have continued to move over her skin, along her dress, caressing and savouring the fact that this woman is in his arms. That his wife is in his arms.

“We’re gonna be late,” he says definitively.

Her head swivels to look at the clock before turning back and quirking an eyebrow.

“We can make it, we’ve got time,” he can tell she’s going step away and that’s out of the question; his idle hands tighten around her, bringing her body flush against his. 

“No, I think we’re gonna be late,” he swoops down and kisses her, moaning lowly at her taste and how she responds to him so swiftly and fully.

He immediately wraps a hand around her thigh and lifts so she has one perfect leg wrapped around him, her body open and inviting. He’s drowning quickly and happily, no care to the rest of the night or anything people expect of him.

He whines a little pitifully when she makes to pull away.

“You have a hall of fame to be inducted into, Mike,” she’s still wrapped around him, and her chest is heaving ever so slightly. 

He just shakes his head, runs a hand over and down her leg before wrapping his fingers possessively around her ankle, anchoring her to him.

Mike understands where she’s coming from, it’s all very important and prestigious, but he has his priorities and he just thinks she should respect those priorities and resign herself to the fact that between a choice of sitting a crowded room with a bunch of people getting an award, and slowly and lovingly unwrapping this dress from her body, he will choose the latter every single time. In fact, he has yet to meet a situation, an item, or a person that means more to him than her.

He realizes he must have said all that out loud judging by the look on her face.

“So, we’re gonna be late,” she finally says, voice warm and sure.

Ginny surges up, attacking his mouth and body with renewed vigour, almost like she’s trying to bury her way into him. He holds her just as intensely, like if he tries hard enough and holds her tight enough he’ll be able to say with his body all he can’t with words. 

He’s always been the more eloquent of the two, it just so happens she’s the only one he knows who can make him forget he speaks any language. Semantics and phonemes become unreliable and insufficient. They do as good a job as possible, Mike wishes there was another way he could show her.

He’s not an artist, not a gifted writer even if he could find the words, can’t write a song or any other typical type of way in which love is expressed. 

He really hopes everything else he does to demonstrate the ineffable magnitude of his love for her shines through. He cooks her breakfast most days; always makes sure there is grape soda in the fridge; gives her back rubs after games; wears her jersey when she’s playing; lets her hog the blankets; always lets her shower first even though she takes longer.

Right now, in this current moment, he decides to do one of the things he’s best at, maybe more than baseball: making Ginny Baker come.

It’s an art form he’s perfected. 

Mike regrettably lets her leg fall, backing her up until her knees hit the bed. He pushes her to sit down before getting to his knees in front of her. Now that he’s retired and his joints aren’t under constant strain he’s become much more flexible with just how long his knees can last.

She runs a hand through his hair, the other going behind her to support her as she half leans back, head falling back, the long line of her throat looking delectable.

His fingers fiddle with the tie at her side.

He wonders.

“Is this functional or purely decorative?” He asks, still thumbing the strings. 

“I think that depends on how late you plan to be.”

He really is going to unwrap her like a present…and happy birthday to him. He tugs at the string, it falls away and he gently unfolds the fabric from around Ginny’s body until all of her, every perfect inch, is open to his gaze, hands, and mouth.

Mike leans into her, planting kisses on the taught skin of her stomach.

“Do we have to go?” He mumbles into her the softness of her belly. Everything he needs is right here. 

The feeling of her bare skin is intoxicating and she’s settling more into the bed, getting comfortable and letting Mike do as he pleases. He kisses over her cloth covered centre, teasing and loving, nudging her legs apart to give him more room. They don’t have a lot of time if they want to make it, so Mike does the expedient thing and simply hooks a thumb into her panties, pulling them to the side so she’s bare for him. He tenderly licks over her wet and swollen flesh before setting about devouring her with a conviction he could almost call religious.

 _Oh_ , he just loves the sounds she makes; a perfect symphony of whispered pleading, gasps and moans. She makes these desperate little noises, coming out broken and needy from the back of her throat that make him incensed. 

Mike tries to take as much time as he can, but her hands are pulling on his hair and her hips won’t stop bucking up into him. He brings one hand to rest on her pelvis, pressing down and she shudders at the pressure.

His tongue is writing poetry in a language he doesn’t know all over her, circling her bundle of nerves and sucking lightly before nipping at her skin and rubbing his chin into her; she bucks at the rough but soft texture of his beard against her.

Ginny lets out a low moan, a shaky exhale follows as she tightens her hands in his hair, making him wince and redouble his efforts. He feels the edge of her heel pressing into his back and wraps his free hand around her leg, clutching her to him.

The scrape of her shoe alone his back, even through the layers of his jacket, button down, and undershirt makes goosebumps run down his arms. He wants to be naked, or at least shirtless.

He loves the feeling of her bare legs wrapped around his torso, her hands digging into his shoulders, her soft luscious skin against his own is basically a panacea for him at this point. Whatever troubles, anxieties, or worries he has inevitably lessen the moment she’s with him, touching him soundly and comfortingly. 

A light hand skimming down his back, her fingers laced through his, or her hands running through his hair make him react like an affectionate house cat. He doesn’t purr, but he comes very close to preening under her attention.

Which is why when he focuses all his attention on her, he wants to make sure she fully grasps how dedicated he is to her and her pleasure.

He is very good at speeches, finding the right words to convey what needs to be said in a clear, sometimes not-so-succinct manner, but words fail him with Ginny. But this, this he can do often, well, and with great enthusiasm. 

“Ah—ah ah ah!” She’s close, he can feel it in how her legs are shaking, how her voice lilts higher and higher, how her back arches beautifully. She looks like she’s coming out of her body, like the sensations he’s creating are making her forget herself.

The hands in his hair grips him almost to the point of pain when her entire body tightens as she flies apart, sobbing loudly and gasping for air like she forgot how to breath for a few seconds.

 _Maybe she did_ , he thinks smugly.

He kisses over her beautiful, wet, swollen flesh a few times, just to watch her twitch and hear her whimper.

He takes one last taste, savouring her on his tongue before he gets up, leaving her still panting and flushed on the bed as he makes his way to the bathroom to wash his face and hands, flatten down his hair, and straighten his suit.

When he walks back out, she hasn’t moved save an arm she’s thrown over her eyes; her other hand is settled low on her belly like she’s trying to hold onto the feeling still causing small aftershocks to run through her.

“We gotta go, Baker, we’re gonna be late,” he’s sure the smile is clear in his voice but he tries to sound exasperated.

She slowly leans up to her elbows, leveling him with a look that screams “not amused.” She falls a little short of the mark because her lips are kiss bitten, her cheeks and chest are still flushed, and she looks completely and utterly debauched.

 _God_ , he wishes he had a camera.

Oh wait. He does.

“Don’t move,” he pulls his phone out of pocket, swipes to get the camera and takes a few pictures. He watches with an delighted grin as the disgruntled scowl on her face transforms into a teasing little smirk as she lays back a few inches and poses for him.

“I can’t decide how I like the dress on you more: fully on or half off…,” he snaps one more photo as she throws her head backs and laughs at him.

She finally gets up, not bothering to retie her dress, letting it hang open unashamedly.

He takes it back, he likes it better like this.

He runs his eyes down the length of her body and back up again.

 _Oh yes_ , no doubt in his mind.

He knows she’s about to go the bathroom to clean herself up, but he stops her with an arm around her waist.

“I said we we’re gonna be late. We gotta go, rookie.”

She pats his arm and tries to get to the bathroom again, “Let me freshen up, I’m not really fit for public just yet,” he doesn’t let go and she squints at him.

“What if I told you that I didn’t want you to freshen up? That I want you to be able to feel how wet I made you? That I’d like to be able to slide my hand into your dress and feel how wet you are, steal a taste, lick my fingers when no one’s looking?”

He watches as her pupils become impossibly wide, swallowing the beautiful brown irises. The breath she’d only just reclaimed comes out in short, shallow gasps and her lips part.

She kisses him roughly, licking into his mouth and moaning at the faint taste of herself on his tongue.

When she pulls back, his breathing matches hers and why are they leaving the house again?

Suddenly, his arms are empty and she’s sashayed around him, tying her dress back up and swaying her hips in such an enticing way he feels hypnotized. 

When she spins quickly at the doorway, dress as right as she’s going to get it, the smirk still firmly on her face and hair deliciously messy he thinks he’s been more grateful for anything in his life, he almost misses what she says next.

“Consider this my present to you,” her voice is low and full of promise and he’s about to make a flirty quip about birthdays when she hikes her dress up a little, reaches around her waist and pulls her panties down her legs, steps out them gracefully and struts back over to him.

He’s stock still, not moving for fear the beautiful mirage in front of him will disappear from his sight. 

She tucks her panties into the pocket of his trousers, biting her lip as she does and making him want to sink his teeth into the flesh himself.

His wife turns and walks out of the room, leaving him standing gobsmacked and breathlessly turned on. 

_His wife._

He hears the front door open.

“I thought you said we were gonna be late! Move it or lose it, old man!”

Just like that, he bounds after her, hand digging into his pocket, curling around the damp fabric and thinking he’s never been this happy in his whole life.

Ginny standing expectantly at the doorway makes him rethink himself. Each moment with her he gets happier, more content, more blissful. 

How is he going to survive falling deeper in love with this woman when he already feels full up with affection?

He’s excited to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Comment if you'd like, it's always appreciated!


End file.
